Belated Birthday Lunch
by RedCardinals
Summary: Mycroft forgets to wish John a happy birthday, and Sherlock angrily demands that he treat John to a nice lunch at a fine restaurant as a belated birthday gift. Sherlock and Mycroft seem to fight over the smallest things, and John isn't sure how to respond to half of their arguments XD no pairings, just laughing. Please review if you have ideas or challenges! Warning: lots of laughs
1. Happy Belated Birthday

**I just got this idea for Sherlock, John, and Mycroft to meet for tea right before Season 2, episode 3. It's because John's birthday was a week previous, and Mycroft didn't send him anything. So, Sherlock enforced a luncheon where Mycroft would treat XD Enjoy! **

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"Brother," Sherlock greeted with a sharp look in his bright eyes. Mycroft was already seated in the cafe, three menus set out in place of each seat and three cups of tea beside them. "How kind of you to celebrate John's belated birthday!"

Mycroft nodded almost bitterly with a dry smile. "Of course, it was my pleasure," He turned his chin toward John and sat up a little straighter. "I only wish I had remembered earlier. The tidal-wave in Li-" He cut himself short. "I mean, certain arrangements made my week quite busy."

John nodded with a cheerful smile. "Well, I'm glad you remembered at all! It seemed like Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock, and Molly were the only people who acknowledge that I was even born," They both laughed, and Sherlock gave him a look.

"Lestrade wished you a happy birthday,"

"You reminded Lestrade," John argued as he added, "Sherlock,"

Sherlock huffed impatiently and hopped into the seat opposite to Mycroft, gesturing to the seat beside him for John. John removed his jacket, feeling much warmer inside the comfy restaurant, and tucked it around the arms of his chair. He smiled at Mycroft rather awkwardly, feeling as though they were a bit too close, but he compensated by picking up the menu. He nearly gasped when he realized how expensive the establishment was.

"Is that-"

Mycroft gave him a pitying smile. "Yes, it's the lunch menu." It was almost adorable that John had never spent more than ten dollars on lunch before. Mycroft could clearly see why Sherlock brought him along everywhere he went. "Just disregard the prices," He tried to soothe his brother's friend, who seemed to be paling at the prices.

"But I-"

"Just," Sherlock gave him an intense look. "Knock off the cat." His lips curled up bitterly.

Mycroft tossed his menu onto the table softly and crossed his arms angrily. "Sherlock, not again,"

John frowned between the both of them and started, "What-" He stopped, trying to prevent an argument, but the damage was already done. He might as well have kissed his peaceful belated-birthday lunch goodbye.

"It was _my_ pet cat," Sherlock said with a roll of his eyes and he cocked his head toward John bluntly. "And Mycroft wanted to buy me a birthday gift, _which I didn't want,_ and sold the cat to get the money."

The older brother sat froward challengingly. "I thought it was a stray, Sherlock, and I've told you that a million times-"

"23,"

Mycroft huffed. "The point of the matter is I didn't know it was yours! And I got you a really nice gift that year-"

"If you can call a book about German politics nice-"

"-you liked it at the time!"

"I didn't know you'd sold my cat at the time!"

"It was a _stray_, Sherlock! You found it beneath Mum's car and-"

"Tuna!" John nearly shouted, and both of the Holmes boys turned their heads at the now-standing John Watson. "I believe that I will have the Tuna with a side of chips and some fresh, broiled asparagus." John slapped the menu closed with a look of deep pleasure.

Mycroft recovered his debonair quickly: "Would you like an appetizer?"

John's grin of pride diminished as he went back to the menu to find the list of appetizers. He lifted it up to his face to read and was oblivious to the fact that Mycroft and Sherlock were tossing each other glares of loathing beyond the menu. His eyes traveled upward just a bit and they both smiled in his direction, Mycroft offering Sherlock the sugar for his tea which he took thankfully. John sighed and raised his eyebrows, returning to the menu.

_This is going to be a long lunch, _John thought as he considered the choices of appetizers.

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**Not finished! Please suggest things to happen :) I think I might just be able to get five chapters off of this plot idea! Please please please please please review! I don't mean to sound desperate but I kinda am XD **


	2. Don't Drink the Tea

**Thanks so much for the reviews guys! I'll be sure to try my best to put in a "food fight" in the entree chapter XD That's a really good idea, but I think it's more of a thing to do in the center of the story :3 I shall do it! :D **

**Thanks for reading, please please review after you read! **

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"They have nice Artichoke-Spinach dip," Mycroft advised John, who seemed a little overwhelmed by all the menu options.

Sherlock scoffed, and Mycroft's kind smile disappeared as he shot a glare at his younger brother. Sherlock crossed his arms and shot him an appeasing smile to make up for his outburst. "Sorry," Sherlock tried, "I had a tickle in my throat." His voice was chilled with dry humor.

"Are you alright?" John checked without looking up from the menu.

Sherlock shrugged. "Of course,"

Mycroft shook his head at his childish brother and turned back to John. "What did you do to celebrate on your birthday?"

"Oh, well," John looked up from the menu with a fond smile. "Sherlock brought me down to the Morgue where Molly and Mrs. Hudson had a little picnic ready,"

"A picnic in the morgue; how nice.." Mycroft said with dry sarcasm that John mistook for honesty. Sherlock kicked his brother in the shin beneath the table angrily. Mycroft shot forward in his seat and John raised his eyebrows with concern.

"Are you okay?" He asked curiously.

"Yes- _yes_, I just need to use the restroom." Mycroft excused himself quickly, glaring daggers at Sherlock as he walked away.

John gave Sherlock a look and he innocently raised his eyebrows. "Hmm?" Sherlock hummed.

"I saw that," He told him with a furrowed brow, and Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You made him buy me lunch, Sherlock, you might as well be nice to him." John sighed deeply, "After all, these meals could pay a month's rent."

Sherlock laughed to himself, "Yes, well, you haven't seen Mycroft's net worth yet," He looked to John with excitement, "Once you know, you'll be a little disappointed he took you to _this_ old place,"

"There aren't places more expensive than this, Sherlock," John contradicted, and Sherlock's eyebrows nearly touched his hair. "There aren't!" John enforced.

Sherlock shook his head with a thin smile, "You should have seen my 22nd birthday party,"

John and Sherlock's eyes met, and John grinned, "Go on, then," He closed the menu and looked up with an expectant smile. "What's his net worth?"

"Let's just say," Sherlock thought of a delicate way to tell John, "He's in the Forbes 400,"

"But he doesn't live in America-"

Sherlock nodded with understanding. "Exactly. _That's _how rich he is."

John's eyebrows went up, and he felt the air chill suddenly as it dawned on him how Sherlock was always able to pay the flat bills without a real, paying job. The consulting detective was almost never paid unless it was a domestic case when a client came with real needs. In that case, John always insisted on payment when Sherlock insisted that they pay him in interesting chases. The more challenging, the better. Sherlock was always willing to work for free if the case was particularly sweet: people drowning forty miles away from water, being mauled in full public, strangled by plants, poisonous fingernails, and so on. Whenever he couldn't solve it at first glance, he was pleased with the case. _"Interesting,"_ He'd always say as he mulled over the case in his mind, and he would get this mad grin as if someone had given him another year of life.

Watson, on the other hand, just wanted to solve the cases before someone else got killed. Including Sherlock nd himself. He never understood why Sherlock was so fond on people keeling over, but he did understand the rush of the run: the marathon that invigorated your senses and made you want to scream with excitement. It turned your knuckles white and left you grinning like a maniac while you did it, moving faster with each step closer. The battlefield was an addiction in itself. Of course, every once in a while the battle would leave a scar in John's mind; leaving him wanting to crawl into a corner and hide from the rest of the world. He would insist on payment for the main reason that Sherlock was almost killed every time they took a case that 'interested' Sherlock, and John wasn't too fond of seeing his friend with guns pointed at his head.

The name _Moriarty _rang out in the back of John's mind like a tattoo that he had tried to remove over and over. It just kept coming back whenever John thought about things for too long and allowed his mind to travel.

"The Fig and Olive Tapenade," Sherlock interrupted John's thought.

"What?"

Sherlock huffed, "Get the Fig and Olive Tapenade," He insisted. "You'll like it." John frowned when he saw that the sugar spoon had moved and Mycroft's cup was slightly turned away from how it had been before.

"Did you sweeten his drink?"

Sherlock grinned and got a happy look in his eyes, "Good, John, you're learning quickly," He said, readjusting the spoon and the cup right as Mycroft came around the corner. Sherlock pretended as though he was sweetening his own drink as Mycroft sat down suspiciously, and he took a sip of his tea.

Mycroft puckered his lips and frowned. "_Sher_lock," He scolded, looking like he might spit the tea out. He sighed and looked him squarely in the eyes, "How much?"

"Two tablespoons," Sherlock smiled deviously.

Mycroft slumped and made eye contact with a nearby waiter, gesturing that they were ready for more tea. "Have you decided what you want?" He asked John.

"Hmm? Oh! Yeah, yeah," John thought quickly to remember what Sherlock had prescribed, "The.. uhm, Fig and Olive Tapenole?"

"_Tapenade?_" Mycroft asked with a frown, and John nodded thankfully, apologizing for the mental mix-up. "Alright," Mycroft nodded with a cold smile that was clearly intended to be forgiving.

The waiter approached them and brought the cart where he balanced a pot of fresh water and clean teacups. The tea cups had an elegant design painted on their soft china and a golden rim around the edge. He and Mycroft exchanged a few words and the waiter nodded, replacing his tea and memorizing their food orders.

"Sherlock, what would you like?" Mycroft looked up from his pleasant conversation.

Sherlock crossed his arms sourly. "I don't want anything, thank you,"

Mycroft's smile diminished and he dismissed the waiter, insisting that Sherlock would order in a few minutes.

"Sherlock," John reprimanded. "Why aren't you going to eat?"

"It's my fault, I suppose," Mycroft idled with his tea cups as he added some cream. "I almost killed him when we were children." John's eyes drew wide and he supported his head with his hand, settling into another argument. "He wanted ravioli-"

"You know full well I hate ravioli," Sherlock interrupted with a frustrated nostril flare.

"-you didn't at the time!"

"Maybe because you hadn't poisoned me at the time!"

"I was thirteen, Sherlock," Mycroft glared.

"And I was six!" Sherlock argued back.

John sighed loud enough for them to hear him, and Mycroft mumbled a quick apology. He continued with his story slowly, "Well Sherlock _asked _for ravioli, and when I made it, I thought that it could use a minty tang to it," John laughed a little bit, before his laugh was frozen by Sherlock glare. _Laugh again, _the glare challenged. "So I went out to Mummy's spice garden and got some mint leaves that I crushed up and mixed into the ravioli sauce. But what I didn't know-"

"Oh, you did so know," Sherlock glared.

"Okay, maybe I knew to a small extent-"

"You knew the whole truth!"

"I just wanted to see what kind of reaction you might have-"

"You wanted me to die!"

"I wanted to see how much it would take for some reaction!"

Sherlock huffed. "Mummy already told you _not_ to!"

John frowned in confusion. "What reaction?" _Does mint have some kind of brain stimulus? _He wondered. _I know it's not deadly, but maybe too much turns off your brain? _That sound absolutely idiotic and John mentally face-palmed at such a stupid idea. _  
_

"Sherlock is.." Mycroft crossed his arms with a look of displeasure. "Allergic to mint,"

"Aller-" John frowned, "Hang on, why haven't you told me?" He turned on Sherlock, who shrugged and avoided John's accusatory look.

"It didn't matter-"

"Sherlock, if mint in your pasta sauce nearly kills you," John contradicted but didn't finish his sentence. His face turned into sour realization. "Oh, is that why you gave Mrs. Hudson those mint chocolates from Molly?" He sighed and muttered a swear. "You could've just told Molly-"

"Could not," Sherlock replied firmly.

John considered his argument for a moment, then turned to Mycroft, who might actually give him answers. Mycroft's eyes brightened at being addressed, "What happened when he ate it?"

"Oh, his throat got all swollen and he got this awful red rash all over his face and arms and hands," Mycroft dismissed as if it were nothing. "He hated me forever after that,"

John fought not to say anything angrily beneath his breath and he turned toward Sherlock. "Please, Sherlock, it's supposed to be my birthday luncheon. Now for goodness sake, eat something."

"Oh, I will!" Sherlock welcomed the waiter as he approached with the Fig and Olive Tapenade, placing it in the center of the table. John noted how Mycroft scooted backward a little bit and frowned.

"Mycroft?" He beckoned, who shook his head softly.

"Hmm?"

John looked between the snacks and Mycroft with a weary look. "Oh great," He watched as Sherlock began to eat the Tapenade, smiling at each tender bite. "You're allergic to them, aren't you?"

"Olives," Sherlock informed helpfully with a mean smile.

"Waiter!" Mycroft called firmly but quietly. The man approached once more and Mycroft smiled unpleasantly. "I would like a large mint tea, please. Extra mint,"

John wiped his face with his hand tiredly. The Holmes brothers looked between each other, sipping and chomping angrily, and John new exactly what each rhythmed bite and slurp spelled out: _This is War. _This was the one battlefield that John Watson didn't miss.

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**Still more to come! Please review! :D I will be sure to include another chapter with that food fight you requested, but I can't really throw the food that causes anaphylactic shock. **

**Please review! Please please please! Any suggestions or challenges you have I would be happy to try to write for you! :D REVIEW PLEASE! **


	3. The Appetizers

**Wow thanks for all of the reviews, guys! :) I will be sure to take all of you suggestions into account and try to add them all in! **

**To the story! :D **

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"Please, Mycroft," John tried to end the Holmes' fighting. "Let's get another appetizer instead, then. Sherlock can have those-" He paused. It was about the first time ever that he had seen Sherlock actually stuff his face full of food.

Mycroft frowned, as if he had a bad taste in his mouth that he couldn't spit out. "No, no, it's fine." He took a dainty sip of his mint tea and stared at Sherlock as if gloating, _Haha, I have tea that you can't have! _His face was poised in a regal manner.

Sherlock plucked an olive off of his Tapenade and held it glamorously between his fingers, admiring it at just the right angle to evoke a feeling of jealousy out of his brother. Then, as it drew Mycroft in, he would pop it into his mouth and smile as if it were the best treat on earth.

"Sherlock," John scolded, but it wasn't much help that Mycroft was licking his lips after each time he sipped his mint tea. "The both of you!" He nearly screamed, and they both stopped, looking up with concern. "Please, stop fighting over this." He waved the waiter over and placed Mycroft's tea and the Tapenade onto the trolley he was pushing.

The waiter lowered his eyebrows curiously. "We needed Artichoke and Spinach dip," John excused quickly, and he nodded curtly with confusion. He had thought he'd brought the right order...

"Anything else?" The waiter asked softly.

"Banana chips?" Mycroft suggested, and Sherlock made a face.

John grimaced. "Sherlock, what all are you allergic to?" He dismissed the waiter with a wave of his hand, mouthing that they would order in a moment.

"Mint," He confirmed, "Latex, and bananas.." He said grudgingly.

"And what do bananas cause?"

"Well, my throat just gets itchy." He said as if it were nothing.

John sighed loudly and turned to Mycroft. "What else are you allergic to?"

"Oh, nothing," He said proudly.

"Mummy says he's lactose intolerant, but he still drinks milk and puts cream in his tea," Sherlock rang loudly, as if he felt superior in comparison.

John had no idea what to do with the Holmes. They were so mature by themselves, one dealing with puzzling murders and the other running the British government, but together they seemed like two squabbling children. Mycroft examined his finger nails as if there was nothing better to do, and Sherlock muttered something under his breath along the lines of, "Gained a stone,"

"I didn't gain a stone," Mycroft objected quietly, not looking up from his nails. "Just 5 kilograms," Sherlock scoffed beneath his breath, and then glared when he realized his deduction had been incorrect. "You've lost two kilograms." Mycroft said loud enough for John to hear, who tossed a concerned look at Sherlock who seemed to pale.

"Have not!" He argued.

"You never wear belts, Sherlock," Mycroft corrected.

"So what if I simply wanted a belt?" Sherlock combated coolly.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "You might as well just accept it, Sherlock. There's no point in making my deductions out to be falsified, since they're very obviously true."

"You know what, it doesn't matter," John said with an unpleasant smile. "I'll make sure Mrs. Hudson gets him to eat more and more when we get back to the flat, now please, stop fighting." He glanced over his shoulder. "Sherlock, the waiter is coming with the appetizer, now for goodness' sakes," He huffed. "Order something."

Sherlock's bright eyes reflected how he loathed being ordered around, but John's dark brown ones condemned him like they were set in stone. He winced and pouted as he looked over the menu, eventually deciding on his meal (which John then checked to not contain any olives) and nodded approvingly.

"Cheers," John thanked as the waiter placed the spinach and artichoke pita chips in front of them all, and he pointed to the menu while ordering Sherlock's meal for him. He was flabbergasted when he watch Sherlock stuffing more of the food into his mouth quickly, smiling. "You like spinach, Sherlock?"

"Hmm? Oh, just as well," He shrugged through a full mouth. "Mycroft, you want one?" He called, but Mycroft seemed to be gazing at his phone. Sherlock smiled meanly and checked to make sure John wasn't watching too closely as he slung a bit of dip onto Mycroft's fine suit.

Mycroft gasped, and John turned his face toward him expectantly. "I.. I spilled some dip on myself," He lied, faking a bitter smile. He reached for a chip and 'accidentally' slung it at Sherlock while attempting to dip it into the spinach-artichoke. "Oops,"

Sherlock's nostrils flared and he gritted his teeth. Mycroft mumbled an apology and Sherlock dismissed the matter angrily, grabbing a napkin and dabbing away the green stain.

_If this is just the appetizer, what'll the main dish be like? _John wondered with a horrified mind. This birthday luncheon seemed to be more like a battle of the siblings, and John was exceptionally grateful that Mrs. Holmes hadn't had another son.

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**Please, please review! :)**


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